


Divulgence

by SoDoLaFaMiDoRe



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Character Death, Fluff, Gore, M/M, Monster!Ratchet, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:37:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5028658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoDoLaFaMiDoRe/pseuds/SoDoLaFaMiDoRe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet is a sparkeater, Pharma is insane, and Drift is surprisingly okay with the situation Delphi leaves him in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divulgence

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy the porn below!

Facing down Pharma was Ratchet's second priority at the moment. Protecting the Lost Light, one mecha in particular, was top priority, but this kind of situation seemed to go hand in hand most of the time.

Ratchet knew what he could do to save himself. Pharma seemed to remember it too, judging by the crazed look he was giving the medic. "Come on Ratchet! You know just how much more durable you could be! Just give up that stupid facade!”

If his finger joints weren't frozen, being eaten alive by rust, Ratchet would have clenched his fists to make a retort. Instead, his left pinkie fell off, clattering to the roof as he felt a taste that was not oral lubricants in his mouth.

Pharma was still shooting him a nasty look, all smiles as if he'd already won the struggle. Ratchet could feel something in his processor seize as the rust attacked his T-Cog, slowly eating at the precious organ.

It wasn't the most comfortable of transformations to initiate; especially the splitting along where his lower faceplates were transforming, denta shooting through sensitive metalmesh to be bared in a snarl of rage. He could feel the energon flowing from multiple splits in his armor, but it wasn't fuel or a patch he needed to fix it.

He needed to feed.

Pharma, for all his bravado of being a better doctor, flinched and stepped back at the sight of tendrils shooting from the medic's backplates, all spines trained on him as the primal snarl turned to words; using sounds that sent coolant through Pharma's sensornet.

"So? You really wanted to see what I'm made of? How good of a medic I am?" Ratchet stepped forward and forced Pharma a step back, closer and closer to the edge of the roof.

Even with the rust still eating at his insides, the good thing about sparkeaters was legend claimed them much more resilient than regular Cybertronians.

Ratchet’s walk was more of a prowl as he moved forwards. Pharma instinctively tried to gain more distance, right pede meeting thin air as his fuel tank dropped to his stabilizers.

A sharp pain in his wings wrestled a shout from the jet, the spines of Ratchet's appendages pierced deep into the metal as he was roughly pulled forward, faceplates mere nanometers from denta that could tear a mech limb from limb.

"If you wanna see how good of a medic I am, this is it. I've been elbow-deep in a mecha's sparkchamber and resisted the urge to feed. The moment the DJD showed up you turned your back on the oath, you sparkless piece of scrap." Ratchet could feel the mix of energon and oral lubricants leaking down his chin , some landing on Pharma as he could only stare wide-opticked at the pure mixture of fury and hunger in Ratchet's optics.

Well, no mech had praised Pharma for knowing when to hold his glossa. "The only one who's sparkless around here is you! You're going soft! You couldn't stop the rust! You couldn't save any of your patients! You're not even Cybertronian! You should have been hunted down for-!!" He didn't get to finish his sentence, Ratchet twisting his pincers deeper as the sensitive metal of the wings began to buckle.

"I may not be Cybertronian, but I made my peace with that." Shooting out his third tendril, he grabbed the antidote out of Pharma's servo, pulling the whimpering jet even closer. "But I have never made my peace with medics who turned their backs on the code. Our first priority is saving lives. You let your patients die to save your own aft plating.”

Taking his final tendril as the one containing the antidote slithered back, he punched it through the plating on Pharma's chest and into the sparkchamber. He felt the slide of oral lubricants near gush into his mouth at the sense of spark energy with no protection, so tantalizingly close. Steeling himself, he shut down the thought trees prioritizing eating his spark.

"Oh, are you going to eat me now you mindless monster?" Pharma attempted one last barb as his systems pinged his HUD with hundreds of warnings about his exposed chamber. "Finally losing that control you prided yourself on?"

Ratchet took a vent. "I'm not lowering myself to the slagging stupid image you have of me." He felt a small flare of animalistic satisfaction at the look of surprise on Pharma's face, watching his optics dim as his spark energy began fading to nothing.

Ratchet held Pharma's corpse a moment longer before letting it drop, feeling the rust continue to crawl along his own greying plating.

"Ratchet?" A curious voice, with a slur of accents from all over the galaxy, one he'd heard preaching of Primus and spirituality far too many times to ever not recognize.

He felt his processor lock up, racing a thousand mechanomiles a second and only drawing blanks in the nanoklicks it took the swordsmech to rush over, remaining portions of his servos hovering over the medic’s plating in an attempt to take in the extensive damages. It must have been the rust affecting his system’s, as Drift didn’t seem to notice the number of new appendages coming from Ratchet’s back.

"Ratchet?" He didn't want to face the other mech. Didn't want to see the look of disgust or horror on his face. But he knew the idiot too well not to turn around like the damn fool he himself was. He could taste the coagulating energon in his mouth as he attempted to swallow and steel himself, spark feeling both sluggish and spinning far too fast.

"Drift, Pharma had the antidote." Switching it from spine to claw, he held it up, hoping to distract the swordsmech from responding to his appearance, delaying the inevitable.

If Ratchet was in bad shape, Drift was even worse off. His pristine white plating was caked in rust, matching tracks running down his faceplates making him look like a macabre figurine from the Cult of Mortilus.

Focusing on the antidote, Drift nodded as some of the rust along his finials flaked off. "What can we do?" His vocalizer was rough as a similar red mixture coated his lipplates.

"We need to get back to the others. Standing here til we’re rust puddles won’t save any patients.” Ratchet could nearly see the gears turning in Drift’s processor, considering his helm was attempting to rust off his frame.

Drift looked at him for a long moment, then Pharma's corpse. "I'll be with you in a moment."

\----

Mass-producing the antidote was thankfully a quick process, with no other bot succumbing to the plague under the work of the three medics, even if one of Ratchet’s optics failed.

Ratchet was able to get some control over his T-Cog through all the rust and revert back, having to direct First Aid and Ambulon on all of the work because his hands were shot, the tips of most of his servodigits rusted through and any stiffness there had been now magnified through his hands so he was only left with stiff movements of his wrists, and worthless lumps of scrap beyond that.

Ratchet could feel the itch deep in his coding to feed. It turned out Pharma had been right in at least a portion of his ploy. Being so close to so many sparks over time had been a challenge for Ratchet. But his façade had helped him cope. After slipping into his true form, being so close to feeding, it was driving him crazy as the hunger pains from the early times came back full force.

But, as with all major events, the Lost Light soon returned to its usual antics, the hallways and medbay near-deserted as most of the mechs celebrated none of their crewmembers dying and toasting the arrival of Ratchet's new junior medics. His attempts to slip into the new routine, especially considering his reduced workload from two junior medics, was tough with the rising need to feed.

He'd given them the night and first shift off, but he got the distinct feeling they wouldn't be celebrating long. Too much happened in too short a time, they had abandoned Delphi as-was when clearing out any mecha who had survived onto the Lost Light.

During his work, he'd worried Drift wouldn't keep his mouth shut, his processor conjuring scenarios where the whole crew found out his secret and mobbed him like an Earth film. Instead, things were just busy and quite normal for the week following the escape from Messatine.

Sitting in the quiet of the medbay, the sense of all sparks now much to faint for Ratchet to worry about, he indulged himself in something he hadn't done by choice in a long time, attempting to soothe the itch in his coding.

T-cog whirring, his plating split and creaked only slightly less painfully as before, multiple joints protesting where his self-repair hadn't finished. There wasn't much he could do for the missing digits considering how shot his hands were, but he still allowed himself a luxurious stretch of his plating as he fantasized of the hidden nest he wanted to curl up in. It was right behind his office in the medbay, all soft and warm and much better for his frame than the repurposed medbay berth he had in his official berthroom on the ship.

He was so caught up in getting his plating settled he didn't notice the door creak open, a white form slipping in as silent as a data ghost.

When he did note that another spark was present, his plating flared in a threat display quicker than thought, pincers clicking menacingly at the other mech as he whipped around to face him.

It took Ratchet longer to recognize the mech than his processor liked, noting the near fully white plating with whispers of red, the glittering gem framed by sweeping white finials and-

"Oh frag." Not the most intelligent response Ratchet had ever had, and he nearly winced at how much of a growl was in his tone, but there wasn't he could do at this point but see what happened with Drift.

\----

To say Drift's week had been bad was the understatement of the centivorn. Not only had he nearly been eaten alive at the beginning of the week by rust, not only had he had to shoulder a larger-than-usual portion of the workload while still recovering; the large number of mech’s on the Lost Light needing to be processed, but he couldn't stop thinking back to what he'd seen on the roof.

Ratchet was, something. Not fully Cybertronian it seemed, thanks to the multitude of tentacles, pincers and claws one only heard about in folklore and religious sermons. He'd been unable to hear what was said between the two with the liquid slurry of energon and rust clogging his audials, but it probably wasn't kind considering Ratchet rammed a limb through Pharma's sparkchamber.

It had honestly been shocking, watching the normally composed medic snarling and brutally taking apart his former protege. Drift had barely thought to grab the other’s hands as Ratchet showed him the vial, but now they sat in a nice box sealed shut with some organic ribbon he'd gotten. He began to doubt whether or not he could face Ratchet, considering what he’d learned.

It had taken a week, but most of the crew was well on the way to recovery and they felt like a party. Seeing both new medics in the party room had been the push Drift needed to sneak out and grab his macabre gift, something in his spark telling him he was going to have to face Ratchet that night or never at all. It was a short walk to the medbay, the door barely ajar as he gave it a gentle push and slipped through.

Drift had fantasized about Ratchet more than would ever be considered normal, Rodimus at his wit’s end with attempting to push Drift to get over his fears and ask the medic out. To say he'd spent many nights dreaming about being pinned by that large frame, hands roaming over his plating and leaving him begging for more, well, even waking up soaked in coolant didn't compare to the sight before him. 

Ratchet was behind his desk, flexing out his long secondary grabbers as his armor rippled like a wave, showing off everything from his boxy hips and up. His servo-digits were curled and unmoving, but the rest of him spoke of the power behind his frame, the armor spikier and dangerous as it shifted.

Drift resisted the urge to wet his lipplates, but he could feel his spark spinning faster in it's housing. It seemed Ratchet finally noted the other occupant in the room, as his relaxation was swept away in a wave of shock and defensiveness that flooded his field. Drift kept his calm and even at Ratchet's cuss, but the low notes in his tone sent shivers down his spinal strut.

"Hey Ratchet, I've been meaning to talk to you." Drift smiled, holding up the box as a peace-offering as the pincers relaxed minutely, shifting to be nearly-hidden behind the medics back as Ratchet attempted to compose himself.

"I'm guessing it's about this?" Ratchet gestured to himself, Drift feeling a little more heat add to the raising of his internal temperature. Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded, and took in Ratchet's body language as he deflated slightly, the spikes smoothing to help cover his protoform.

"Alright, but not here. I need you to trust me, but I also need to trust you to keep whatever I say to yourself." Drift nodded again, following Ratchet through his office and dropping the box on the desk, only to have Ratchet drum his claws against the far wall. A wall panel moved up to reveal a hidden room, which for what Drift had expected was quite different than he thought. 

There was a lot of something piled in the corner, an edge just barely poking through the mesh telling Drift it was an energon stash, but what took up most of the space in the room and most of his attention was the large pile of meshes and pillows. They were arranged in a circle that could easily hold a mech Fortress Maximus' or Ultra Magnus' size, with walls coming up nearly to Drift's sparkchamber. The indentation past the wall of mesh and pillows went only to his knee height. Judging by the creases, it was well cared-for and well-used.

Keeping an eye on Ratchet, he reached a servo forward and felt the meshes. They were luxuriously soft, and they moved through his digits like oil.

"So you built a nest? That’s why we’re in here?”

"Among other things. Most of it's instinct, and it helps keep me calm when I'm in there." The response was strained, but Drift couldn’t fully place what was setting the gravelly voice on edge.

\----

Ratchet was anything but calm at the moment. Drift was in his nesting-room, touching his nest, and he was so nonchalant that Ratchet was overriding prompt after prompt to prevent his cooling fans from clicking on and dispersing the heat building in his stomach plating.

He could tell when the more instinctual side, the one that constantly reminded him how he hadn't been feeding properly in so long, was rearing it's head. And with Drift right there, someone Ratchet himself had wanted for so long, Ratchet resisted taking even a step forward before he lost all self-control and let his coding throw the mech into the nest.

"-en are you?" Ratchet had spaced out so much he didn't notice Drift had been talking to him, all the while he was still running his hands over the wall of the nest, seemingly transfixed on the way it felt as it smoothed beneath his palm.

"Sorry, I was distracted." Ratchet wanted to wince at how wrong that sounded blurted out, especially with the sleek speedster only a few mechanometers away, but Drift just huffed a laugh and repeated himself.

"So, what are you?" His tone and field held no hint of revulsion or disgust, just genuine curiosity as he took a better look at Ratchet’s frame.

That question was one that even puzzled Ratchet for years. He knew that from his need to feed on mecha, specifically their sparks, he was probably some more intelligent form of a sparkeater, but that ludicrous thought had taken a long while for even him to come to terms with.

"Well, from what I've been able to figure out, I have some portion of sparkeater coding, and, well, this." He gestured to himself as well as he could with the limited mobility in and past his wrists. “I have an urge to feed on mecha’s spark energy and I’m slightly hardier to disease in this form.

"Wait, I thought you said that you didn't believe in sparkeaters?" Drift wheeled on his heel to face Ratchet, a wicked glee in his optics and only quick overrides of Ratchet's part kept his fans from coming on in a surge. Was Drift honestly that blind to how turned-on he was making him? “How did you even hide it from everyone?” Was the next question out of Drift’s vocalizer, before Ratchet could raise to the bait of his obvious teasing.

That one was a tough one, and helped Ratchet keep his fans from increasing their speed and clattering. Swallowing oral solvent to help keep his feeding coding at bay, he lowered the focus on his optics to avoid staring at Drift’s open expression and twitching finials. “I just didn’t eat from sparks.” Something in his tone or EM field must have given a tell to Drift, as the swordsmech narrowed his optics and glanced harder at Ratchet’s frame.

“Ratchet, is that even a viable option for you?” His tone held no room for questioning, studying Ratchet critically.

“I’ve survived 4 million years of war without feeding off a spark, it’s worked fine enough so far kid.” He felt his back-limbs move forwards to make sure there was some space between himself and Drift.

“Aren’t you constantly hungry?” 

“Why would it matter? I can do my job.” That response wasn’t good enough for Drift, who approached closer to Ratchet with a pointed look as his processor processed the data given to him. Ratchet began to move back as Drift stalked forwards, attempting to keep the distance between them.

Ratchet felt his backplates hit the wall as his protoform nearly jolted out of his plating, Drift taking a few steps closer with a teasing look in his optics.

Ratchet shot a claw forward and opened up the pincer to keep Drift back, the instinctual side of his processor screaming at him to just grab him and rut him into the floor until he could feast on his spark energy.

Ratchet steadfastly ignored it, his vocalizer clicking as he attempted to find his voice and the right choice of words. "Drift, I need you to not step any closer."

"But why?"

"Because if you do, I don't think I'll be able to refuse the coding telling me to feed on you." 

“How do you feed, as you obviously didn’t rip us all to shreds like the one from the cells?” Drift didn’t know when to quit when he was ahead.

Well, Ratchet hadn’t expected the conversation to take a turn towards not having his conversational partner run away in fear. And Ratchet had the feeling Drift would hound him until he got the truth out of him. Taking a vent, the words tumbled out of his vocalizer in a rush. “Most of my coding prompts me that the easiest way to get the energy needed without killing another mech is to build up spark energy and feed off the excess.” There, it was out in the open.

Drift wasn’t naive enough not to put the evidence together. “So you can feed off overloads?” There was a small shock across Drift's EM field, too quick for Ratchet to identify as he took another step closer and gently took hold of an arm of the pincer, his optics full of a fond look as he brought it to his faceplate and gave it a light nuzzle.

“Y-yeah.” Ratchet took a heavy vent as his fan rattled on, vocalizer skipping as the odd shock in Drift’s EM field began to permeate, allowing Ratchet to get a better sense of what he was feeling. 

Arousal.

"And what if I said I didn't mind? What if I told you I wanted you to feed on me? I trust you, you would never hurt me." Drift gave Ratchet a look that had Ratchet scrambling to override his spike from pressurizing at the sight, attempting to keep some form of control over himself as his instincts told him to grab Drift right around his slender waist and-

"Drift." Even Ratchet was surprised at the timbre in his voice. "Look, I need you to listen to me. I haven't fed in a very long time, and I need you to understand exactly what you’re consenting to.”

“Ratchet, you’re acting like I don’t understand how an overload works.” Drift made a face, and Ratchet wanted to snarl at how he was turning it into a joke. Then again, no matter the situation, Drift would have found a way to get under his plating. It was part of his charm, and what was snapping the last threads of self-control in Ratchet’s processor.

The darker part of him won over, as Drift took advantage of his momentary emotional slip to step closer. Ratchet put up a hand between them as well as he could, keeping Drift less than a servo-span away. “Drift, for my own sake, I need to make sure you're going to be okay during this. I want you to get a cube and finish it first, and I want to be plugged into your diagnostic port. After that, then the real fun can begin, seeing as you’re so insistent for me to blow your circuits. If you want to stop at any time, just ping me on my commline. Understand?”

Drift's smile turned from soft to slag-eating as everything registered, sashaying to get a cube as Ratchet attempted to regain some semblance of control over his frame. Drift came back all smiles as he gulped down the energon, optics shamelessly checking out Rachet. His scabbards were gone from his hips, crossed with the Greatsword laid across them on the floor.

Ratchet’s frame made minute shudders as he watched Drift’s neck cables shift from the energon. When the cube was finished and crushed, Ratchet somehow had enough control to fumble out his diagnostic cable out and plug it into Drift’s offered port, processor barely remembering to pull up the dialog box that fed the mech’s information to his HUD before wrapping around Drift with his pincers and roughly pulling him closer as their vents mixed together.

At first the kiss was gentle, Ratchet testing Drift's boundaries and making a mental note of how soft his lipplates were, but as his more feral coding began to take control, it was prompting him to be more aggressive and tighten his grip on the other mech.

Gently nipping at Drift's bottom lip, Ratchet pressed his sharper denta into the soft derma as Drift let out a gasp. He suckled at the slight hurt, earning a choked moan as Drift attempted to work his vocaliser and slide his hands to Ratchet’s hips. Clinging tighter to the speedster, Ratchet trailed the kisses up his jaw to his finial and placed gentle bites along the metal. Drift arched his back to rub against Ratchet as he mapped out the most sensitive parts of the white fairings.

Ratchet gave into instinct as he kissed down Drift's cheek to his neck cabling, leaving a series of bites that were sure to be there in the morning before soothing and suckling them, the swordsmech shivering at the sensations running through his neural net.

He felt Drift's arms shakily trail up and down his own body to find more sensitive points along his seams. His coding took it as a struggle to escape, causing a possessive growl as he held him closer. Gently pushing Drift's helm back, Ratchet placed a specific bite to where his main energon line and a primary movement relay met underneath his chin. Drift instinctively stilled with the denta at his throat, and Ratchet drooled a large amount of oral fluids onto the spot.

Drift's legs gave out from under him in a wordless cry, only the tight wrapping of the tentacles and Ratchet's strong arms keeping him upright and nearly crushed against the medic as the tentacles snaked closer around his torso plating.

Monitoring Drift's state on his HUD, Ratchet noticed that despite the paralytic, Drift showed no other worrying effects besides the excess heat his frame was producing. Medical coding satisfied, Ratchet looked at the limp, drooling speedster in his arms and grinned.

"Drift, we're only getting started."

\----

Even Drift's fantasies, the ones that left him waking up with fluids leaking past his panels, hadn't prepared him for this. Ratchet's kisses were intoxicating, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake as the metals rapidly heated up. It was all he could do to hold Ratchet tightly as he bit and soothed his sensitive finial, little gasps and pleas for Primus-knows-what falling from his lipplates.

With Ratchet biting at his neck Drift felt how hot his plating was becoming, his valve aching behind his panel as his spike felt uncomfortably tight in its housing, a whimper strangled from his lips as he realized he couldn’t move.

Drift's tanks lurched as his felt his limbs refuse his pins to move, spark spinning faster as he was held even tighter by Ratchet. He could still feel every piece of his frame, yet Drift's vocalizer could only produce grunts and moans as Ratchet continued to hold and tease him.

He dimly registered movement through the heat starting to fog his processor, registering that somehow Ratchet had hoisted him over the wall and set him gently in the middle of the pillow nest.

It was one of the softest berths Drift had ever been laid on. He felt his limbs picked up and adjusted as Ratchet fussed over him, and if he wasn't so focused on sucking air into his boiling systems he would have smiled at the gentle care the medic showed.

“You are so gorgeous,” Ratchet whispered with reverence as he fussed the swordsmech.

One Ratchet had Drift settled to his liking it was back to kissing, starting at Drift's neck and trailing down his torso. Pincers found and dug into seams, plucking at wires as he trailed lower and lower. By the time he reached Drift's panel it had already transformed aside, valve leaking transfluid onto the nest as the biolights flared eagerly in anticipation, spike pressurized at attention.

Ignoring the leaking valve for a moment, Ratchet pressed a kiss to the underside of where Drift’s spike extended from his housing, using one of the now-unnecessary holding pincers to lift Drift’s head. Once he was sure he had the speedster’s attention, he placed a kiss to the transfluid slit and swallowed the spike. Drift let out a strangled moan as Ratchet fluttered his glossa along the spike, covering it in oral lubricants as he tasted pre-overload on his glossa.

Ratchet could feel Drift’s growing charge as he continued to ease the spike into his intake, fluttering his throat tubing as Drift’s engine let out a high-pitched whine, lipplates mouthing pleas as he watched his spike disappear into the other mech.

Drift could feel his charge growing, but it felt as if his spike was encased in an inhibitor, unable to release the growing pressure in his tanks as Ratchet continued to tease him. 

Feeling that Drift had been thoroughly aroused in the spike department, Ratchet moved lower, to where Drift was staining the nest with his fluids. With his face so close to the engorged lips and swollen node, Ratchet took his time with enjoying the sight before him, swiping his glossa across his lips.

Ratchet purred at the view, but just blew a soft huff of a vent on the valve, earning a needy whine from Drift as he moved lower and mouthed at the sensitive wiring at the speedster's stabiliser joints, planting kisses all along the mechanisms and finding which wires were the most sensitive to his ministrations.

Leaving a trail of kisses and bites up the inside of one leg, the corner of his lips barely ghosted over the scorching array before moving down to the other knee joint to repeat the process. The sharp rev of Drift's engine and the whine wrung from his vocalizer gave Ratchet pause as he made another mark to Drift's leg. Just because the most energy was produced during an overload didn't mean he wouldn't treat Drift properly first.

And for the Party Ambulance, that meant teasing them half-way to stasis on the foreplay. 

Nearing the apex of Drift's valve, he sat back on his haunches and gazed at the sight before him, Drift's valve leaking lubricant as it clenched on air, the small gasps he made at the sensations coursing through his neural net, and his small, aborted twitches he was unable to control in his extremities.

Leaning forward, Ratchet licked a long stripe right between the plush valve lips, paying special attention to Drift's anterior node. He felt their EM fields tangle as Drift let out a sharp gasp, the arcs of charge beginning to visibly crackle across his frame.

\----

Drift wished he had a better grip on his vocalizer, but even speaking was a sluggish affair. Whatever Ratchet was using in his kisses, it left him hot and bothered wherever he was touched.

He could feel Ratchet's denta on his plating, sharp bites soothed with gentle licks and whisper-touches of kisses in between. The thought of the marks adoring his legs, reminding him that yes, he was interfacing Ratchet, only caused his fans to spin faster as he whined and drooled into the berth.

When Ratchet started lapping at the folds of his valve, Drift wished he could move and lock his head in between his thighs. Ratchet's glossa was licking up the lubricants leaking out as if they were the sweetest of highgrades, humming and making obscene slurping noises. Drift thought he was going to overload at all of the attention his valve was receiving, but something felt different in his valve. The attention, while making him even more sensitized, was at the same time all too much and not enough to overload.

Ratchet didn't seem worried, taking Drift's nub between his sharp denta and giving it a gentle tug, earning a strangled cry from Drift as his charge ramped ever higher.

As Drift vented heavily, Ratchet slid one of his tentacles down his frame, teasing at transformation seams along the way. Carefully pushing the closed claw into his valve to test the mesh walls, shivering as the boiling lubricant soaked the sensitive plating and leached at his armor seams. He teased at the mesh walls, taking near-feral delight at the noises Drift made, pressing at sensor-nodes to help relax the mech further.

Drawing the claw out, he made sure Drift was watching as he made a show of sucking lubricant, hearing the sharp whine of an engine stutter for a moment as Ratchet savored the taste on his glossa.

Taking it out of his mouth with a lewd pop, he leaned over to whisper in Drift's audio, making sure to emphasize the cage of his body over the lighter frame. His lipplates brushed against the sensitive audial flare, eliciting a shudder from Drift as he growled. "You taste delicious. I can't wait to see if you feel even better."

Drift's EM field flared in interest, optics locked on Ratchet as he croaked static. "R-Ratchet, please I-I ne-" Ratchet gave him a comforting kiss to the audial flare, petting the other one with a pincer.

"Shh, shh. I know Drift, I know." The asphoradics, besides the chemical block they created on his ability to overload, made sure that Drift was more than physically aroused at the prospect of interfacing. 

The mentally aroused aspects, well Drift was acting more-than-eager as he was capable of showing. Kissing Drift's now slightly swollen lipplates, Ratchet let a pincer trail down his chest to play with the valve folds, pinching at his node and tightening up the plating until the tip was as thin as two servo-digits. Pressing the appendage against the valve opening, it was a simple task to slide the head in against the clenching calipers to finish preparing Drift.

\----

Drift thought having one of Ratchet's pincers in his valve was going to, well, pinch. He didn't expect the odd sensation it gave, the slightly cooler metal causing his calipers to clench around the metal and squeeze. Ratchet gave a shudder above him, leaning down to mouth at his neck cables and lick up the drool trailing down his face. When they kissed Drift could still taste a hint of his own valve lubricants on Ratchet's lips.

Spreading the ends of the pincers. Ratchet allowed the plating to relax as Drift's valve did, comfortably keeping the pressure on until he had the equivalent of three digits stretching out Drift's valve, causing him to make a litany of noises at the sensations coursing through his lower stomach.

Once Ratchet was satisfied that Drift wasn't going to be hurt, he slid his pincer out, making sure that it teased nodes along the way, giving another show of cleaning off the lubricant stuck to the pincer before leaning close to kiss Drift again.

"Are you still alright?" Drift's physical signs, besides the elevated charge, were fine, but Ratchet wasn't looking for the physical signs, he was looking for Drift's consent to continue.

"R-ratchet yes please yes!" Drift shot him a pleading look as well as he could with his paralysis, giving a sharp rev of his engine to underscore his words.

Smiling, Ratchet kissed Drift again and nipped his lower lip, allowing his aching spike to slide free from its housing and pressurize. He rutted against Drift's own spike a few times to finish teasing as a pincer took lubricant from Drift's valve, coating his own spike in a healthy layer of fluids to prevent any snags.

Grunting, he lined up the head of his spike with the valve ring, protectively wrapping his pincers around Drift and cradling him close as he slowly sunk in. Drift let out a few strangled gasps at the sensations, Ratchet kissing him to distract himself from the delicious spark energy such a short distance away.

The first thrust was near maddeningly slow, Drift letting out a whine at the loss of sensation as Ratchet only left the head in, then ever so slowly thrust back in until their hip plating met.

Drift used his engine to give a sharp rev, attempting to tell Ratchet to speed things up, and Ratchet gave him a sharp look before holding him even closer and using a stronger rev of his own to rattle Drift's plating. 

Moving back in for a rougher kiss, it seemed Ratchet had been using his slow thrusting to keep himself in check as his pacing began to quicken, a harsh clang of metal on metal sounding every time their hips met. The kissing grew harsher until Ratchet moved to biting one of the more reinforced cables on Drift's neck, the scent of energon charging as the spark below garnered more and more energy made instinct rule Ratchet's processor.

Drift could feel his charge climbing, a warning in his HUD popping telling him a failsafe wasn't working, but he dismissed it. He trusted Ratchet not to hurt him, and at that moment, Ratchet bit him hard enough to leave a mark as he moved down to Drift's chest plating, licking at the metal and mouthing on hidden seams as his hips moved with greater urgency, beginning to still as something swelled inside Drift's valve. 

'Oh, he has a knotting mod.' Was Drift's last full conscious thought as Ratchet's spike twitched, the medic above him groaning as he came into Drift's valve.

The mixture of charge and transfluid seemed to be the counter for whatever had placed a charge blocker on his systems, as his EM field flared, charge crackling across his plating as his spark flared wildly. 

Drift could have sworn he felt a tugging sensation on his spark as Ratchet nipped and mouthed at the reinforced armor above his sparkchamber, but Ratchet made no intention of pushing any further except for the odd tugging sensation. He felt the plating mouthed and suckled as Ratchet continue his feeding frenzy.

The waves of pleasure and pulling easily became far too much as Drift felt his processor threads start a shutdown sequence, but all he could focus on was how nice it felt as he fell offline.

\----

Waking up was an entirely different process than falling offline for Drift. His frame felt sluggish as he slowly curled and uncurled his digits and pedes, optics taking a few tries to online and adjust as he registered the heavy weight on his chest, along with something foreign locked in his valve.

Craning his neck, he nearly jolted in shock at the sight of Ratchet slumped on his chest, sound asleep with his large tentacles still holding Drift in a grip reminiscent of a hug. 

Looking lower, Drift noted the full feeling in his overflow tank as he took in the sheer mess of transfluid and lubricants staining both their thighs, finials and cheekplates heating as he remembered just how hot things had gotten last night, Ratchet using his mouth to tease Drift halfway to sta-

His cooling fans clicked on, the other mech shifting as he began to slowly cycle on from recharge. A twitch in his valve told Drift Ratchet had fallen asleep with his spike still half-way pressurized inside him, and wasn’t quite done depressurizing.

It took Ratchet a few tired blinks to note that things were different, resetting his optics as he stared at the blushing, smiling face below him.

Drift could visibly see the gears turning, giving an encouraging squeeze of his valve as Ratchet froze. "Good morning Ratchet! Is that always how you feed? Because if yes, you could feed anytime you want." Ratchet groaned at the coy look on Drift's face, even as his spike relaxed down into its housing and he leaned down for a kiss.

"You are a terror. Don't try moving yet, it won't be pleasant on the gyros." Ratchet shifted, modesty panels sliding shut as he moved out of Drift's line of sight, Drift allowing his frame to fully sink back into the berth as his own panels slid shut, locking many of the sloshing fluids inside.

The sound of an odd transformation sequence cued Drift in to where Ratchet was, the nest shifting slightly as the medic crawled back into view, holding two energon cubes and a very soft-looking mesh.

Placing the cubes to the side, Drift felt himself lifted to lean against a broad chest as the mesh was tucked around his shoulders, making sure his frame was kept from cooling down too much without clogging his vents.

A cube of medical-grade appeared before his optics, Ratchet having to take care with holding it from the limited use of his servos past his wrists.. Drift placed his own calloused hands over Ratchet's as he drank from the cube, fighting a smirk as he felt the medic's engine turnover at the simple action.

With his own cube was finished Drift felt much stronger, grabbing Ratchets cube and placing it in his lap before taking the mesh and throwing it around the medic as well, snuggling close as he picked up the cube and held it to the medic's lips. 

Ratchet swallowed most of the cube before putting a servo up to stop Drift, petting his helm crest and encouraging Drift to lean back and cuddle with a few gentle pushes.

Feeling a weight behind his optics, and noting that there were a few hours left in the night cycle, Ratchet looked at Drift only to find the speedster had fallen into recharge again, vents giving soft puffs of air as he relaxed further into Ratchet's hold.

\----

Waking up to an unfamiliar alarm, Ratchet felt his battle protocols snap online as he listened for the sounds of gunfire and klaxons.

Another press of a field and a warm frame moving on his forced him to pause, looking at the other mechanism to check for threats. Except the alarm was already off, and he had Drift staring at him with those sincere blue optics, a sheepish expression flashing across his face as his finials twitched.

“Sorry, that was mine. Good morning Ratchet.” Leaning in for a lazy kiss, it was gently returned as he was pulled back into the warm embrace.

“We still have two joors before shift, and you’re not going anywhere.” Drift could tell the grumpiness was an act, snuggling close as he pinched a cable in Ratchet’s inner thigh.

“I can stay once, but next time, we’re going to have to alter our schedules for more cuddling.” Drift felt Ratchet freeze behind him before relaxing again.

“Yeah, next time kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope it was as enjoyable to read for you as it was to write for me!


End file.
